Читать книгу The Wedding Deception - Kay Thorpe - Страница 6

WITH only half an hour to go before closing time, there was little chance of any more customers happening by, Claire reckoned. Not quite the worst day’s trade she had known, but a very long way from being the best either.

The weather was the main culprit. There was little pleasure to be found in traipsing round the shops in the rain. June had been a total wash-out this year. Hopefully, July and August would be better. If not she was going to be left with a lot of summer stock on her hands—something she could ill afford.

Her neck still ached from bending over her account books for so long earlier. She ran a hand under the heavy curve of hair the colour of a new penny to ease her nape, grimacing a little. No matter how she totted up the figures, they told the same story—Candice was going steadily downhill.

It could do no harm to shut shop early for once, she decided, shelving her problems for the moment. Jill would be back from visiting her friend in Buxton by now, and would no doubt be hungry. It was too much to hope that she would have taken it on herself to prepare a meal, of course. Cooking simply wasn’t her forte, as she was fond of pointing out.

When it came to housework of any kind, little was, Claire reflected with fond humour. It wasn’t exactly her own favourite pastime either, but she couldn’t find it in herself to resent her sister’s easy assurance that all would be provided. With A levels behind her, Jill had a right to a few weeks of self-indulgence before going on to university.

Ideally, her grades would be good enough to secure her the place at Warwick already on offer, although she had spent far too many evenings out with friends when she should have been studying for the exams, in Claire’s estimation. With only six years between the two of them, laying down the law didn’t come easy.

About to turn over the ‘Closed’ sign in the glass door, she felt her heart give a sickening jerk as a man loomed in the doorway. Only a couple of weeks ago the lady in children’s wear next door had been subjected to an attack by some man not yet apprehended by the police. Her personal injuries had been more emotional than physical, but he had got away with the day’s takings and had left the woman afraid to be on her own in the shop.

This one hardly looked the type to be contemplating robbery, she thought in swift self-reassurance, assessing the expensive cut of his light wool jacket and immaculately pressed beige trousers. Hardly the type to patronise an establishment such as this either, but he could be in search of something for his wife, she supposed.

‘I was just about to close,’ she said, opening the door, ‘but you’re welcome to come in and take a look around if you like.’

‘You’re Claire Marcroft?’ he asked shortly.

‘Well, yes.’ She was disconcerted both by his use of her name and by his tone. ‘How can I help you?’

Already inside the shop, he cast an appraising glance over the place before turning back to meet her questioning green eyes. He topped her by a good six inches or more despite her high heels. His eyes were grey, she noted fleetingly, their regard somehow discomfiting. A stray shaft of sunlight, angling in through the window, picked up a healthy glint in his thick dark hair. The hard-boned, essentially masculine features were vaguely familiar.

‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’ he said.

‘There’s the office,’ she acknowledged. ‘But I don’t see what—’

‘Supposing we go there?’ he interrupted.

‘Supposing you tell me what it is you’re here for first,’ Claire rejoined crisply, recovering some degree of composure. ‘Mr…?’

‘Laxton,’ he supplied. ‘Ross Laxton.’ He watched her expression change, an ironic line to his mouth. ‘I see the name means something to you.’

‘There was an article about you in the local paper a few weeks ago,’ she confirmed. ‘And a photograph. You’re head of HR Incorporated.’

‘No other connection?’

She hesitated, doubtful whether someone in his position should be making such a call, and unable to think of a reason. ‘Is it to do with the lease?’

‘I don’t deal with leases.’ His tone was dry.

‘No, of course not.’ Claire was embarrassed by the gaffe. ‘It’s just that with the company owning this whole row of shops, and my lease due for renewal soon, I thought…’ She left it there, aware of stating the obvious, and said instead, ‘So what exactly is it you are here for?’

He took his time replying, studying the clean lines of her face with its wide-spaced eyes, small straight nose and generously curved mouth. She could feel herself growing warm beneath the scrutiny, and hoped that the flush didn’t show. No doubt she didn’t begin to compare with the women a man of his looks and kind was accustomed to viewing at such close quarters, but that was no reason for him to look quite so disparaging.

‘Are you and your sister very much alike?’ he asked, startling her because it was the last thing she had expected him to say.

‘Only superficially,’ she found herself answering, before catching herself up. Brows drawn together, she started to ask how he knew that she had a sister, but he forestalled her.

‘Your parents are dead, I understand.’

Claire swallowed on the sudden hard lump in her throat, caught unawares by the bald statement. Even after all this time the pain was still like a spear through her heart.

‘They were killed in a car crash four years ago,’ she said with control. ‘Although I fail to see what business it is of yours.’

‘You were how old at the time?’ he continued, ignoring the latter remark.

‘Twenty.’ The reply was dragged from her against her will. ‘I really don’t see—’

‘Hardly mature enough to be left in total charge of a fourteen-year-old, would you say? Especially in this day and age.’

‘There was no one else.’ She was fast losing the little tolerance remaining in her. ‘Will you please tell me what this is all about?’

The dark head inclined, its lean features set in uncompromising lines. ‘As your sister doesn’t appear to have told you herself, it seems I have to do it for her.’ He paused briefly. ‘To put it bluntly, she’s pregnant.’

Shock kept Claire both motionless and speechless for several seconds. She could only gaze at him with eyes gone wide and dark. When she did find her voice at last, it sounded totally unlike her own.

‘You must have got the wrong person!’

He gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘I doubt if there are two Jill Marcrofts in town with sisters who run a boutique on High Street.’

Mind whirling, she said thickly, ‘Are you claiming to be the father?’

His lips thinned. ‘I’m not in the habit of playing around with girls almost half my age.’

‘Then who is supposed to be?’ she demanded, even more confused.

‘My younger brother,’ he said. ‘With “supposed” very much the operative word.’

‘Just a minute!’ Claire wasn’t too far gone to recognise the imputation. ‘You’re saying my sister is pregnant but your brother isn’t the one responsible?’

‘I’m saying there’s room for doubt.’

‘You get out of here!’ Face hot, eyes sparking like twin emeralds, she only barely stopped herself from smashing her hand across the lean brown cheek. ‘Just get out!’

If he recognised the danger of a physical attack, he wasn’t allowing it to deter him. He made no move, but simply stood there looking at her with infuriating condescension.

‘As the bearer of bad news, I’d hardly expect to be greeted with open arms, but it does none of us any good to fly off the handle. The sooner you face up to it, the sooner we can start getting the whole sorry business sorted out.’

‘There’s nothing to sort out!’ She forced the words between clenched teeth. ‘I don’t believe a word of it!’

The sigh held more than a hint of impatience. ‘There appears to be little doubt about the pregnancy. It’s Scott’s involvement I’m here to discuss.’ The very way he said the word ‘involvement’ underlined his rejection, as did the following, ‘He’s altogether too gullible.’

Claire drew in a long, slow breath, fighting to restrain her wilder impulses. It couldn’t be true, she told herself. There simply had to be a mistake somewhere! That should be straightened out first.

‘Assuming we’re not talking about a single instance, just how long is this…affair supposed to have been going on?’ she managed, with creditable steadiness.

Broad shoulders lifted in a brief shrug. ‘According to Scott, since early May.’

‘That makes it even less likely! Jill was still in school then.’

‘In school, maybe, but not necessarily with her mind on her work. Anyway, why would he lie about it?’

‘Never having met your brother, I’ve no idea what his motives might be,’ she retorted tautly. ‘All I am sure of is that if Jill really had been carrying on a relationship with him—or with anyone else, for that matter—I’d have known about it.’

The grey eyes registered scepticism. ‘Are you trying to claim she never even had a boyfriend before?’

‘Of course I’m not. She’s a very pretty and popular girl.’

‘So I’m given to understand.’

Her chin jerked up, her fists clenching involuntarily at her sides. ‘Are you suggesting what I think you might be?’

‘I’m suggesting,’ he said, without change of tone, ‘that you may not know your sister quite as well as you believe you do.’

She gazed at him in silence for a lengthy moment, grappling with the thought that if this story of his turned out to have any truth in it at all, then he might well be right. Jill had certainly been very moody recently. Claire had put it down to nervousness over her coming exam results, but this cast a whole new light on things. Pregnant! It didn’t bear thinking about!

‘Is your brother denying responsibility?’ she asked, trying her best to maintain some semblance of composure.

Ross shrugged again. ‘On the contrary, he’s only too ready to accept what he believes is his responsibility, and do the right thing.’

‘You mean…marriage?’

‘Yes.’

‘But obviously you don’t agree?’

‘He’s only just twenty-two. The last thing he needs at this juncture is being lumbered with a wife and family.’

‘I’d think him old enough to decide that for himself.’

The grey eyes were unrelenting. ‘Old enough, maybe; sensible enough, definitely not. Anyway, it isn’t just his future I’m concerned about. My father’s already suffered one stroke. A shotgun wedding would just about finish him off completely.’

Claire made no attempt to offer meaningless sympathy. ‘Do I take it you’re the only one of the family your brother has confided in so far?’ she got out.

‘That’s right,’ Ross confirmed. ‘He only told me about it a couple of hours ago. I decided it best to tackle you here on your own rather than come to the house.’

‘Hoping for what?’ she demanded, with a curl of her own lip. ‘You’ve more or less accused my sister of being a promiscuous little tart. Did you expect me to confirm it for you?’

His face darkened, lips compressing. ‘You’re putting words into my mouth.’

‘I don’t think so. You’ve made your opinion pretty clear.’ She drew in another steadying breath, feeling the sick churning inside her threatening to take over. ‘Does your brother know you were coming here?’

He shook his head, expression unapologetic. ‘I took it on myself to try sorting something out.’

‘Such as what?’ Claire demanded. ‘An offer of money, maybe?’

From the look that flickered across the lean features, she had hit the nail on the head. Anger momentarily swamped all over emotions, and was held in check with the greatest difficulty.

‘I think you’d better go,’ she said, voice low and tight.

The strong mouth took on a wry line, as if in acknowledgment of a tactical error. ‘All right, so money isn’t necessarily the answer. But you’d surely agree that marriage under these circumstances isn’t the best thing either?’

‘I don’t know what I think.’ Claire was close to losing her grip altogether. ‘I’m not even convinced of the basic fact yet. Why should I take your word for it?’

‘It isn’t my word, it’s my brother’s,’ he said. ‘He’s hardly likely to make such a claim for fun!’

Claire doubted it too. What man would? She felt totally at sea.

‘I’d suggest you go and confront your sister with it,’ said Ross after a moment, watching her face. ‘Tomorrow being Sunday, we’ll all be available for discussion, I take it.’ It was more statement than question. ‘I imagine Scott has your address. We’ll come over together in the morning and talk it through.’

Further protestation would be a waste of time and effort, Claire accepted. Her first priority was to get home and see Jill.

Ross had taken her agreement for granted, and was already turning away to open the door again. A fine figure of a man, that part of her brain still functioning on normal levels registered: shoulders broad and powerful, hips lean, legs long and straight. A man she might well have found vitally attractive under normal circumstances.

If what he had told her really did turn out to be true— and there seemed little chance that it might not—then where did they go from here? she wondered numbly. Jill had her whole life ahead of her, and university just around the corner. With or without marriage, she was far too young to be a mother.

The rain had stopped some time before, although the pavements were still wet when she got outside. Carrying her raincoat, she locked the door securely, then walked down to the side-street where she had parked the little red Fiat Panda.

Six years old, the car was in far from pristine condition, but it was all she could comfortably afford to run, along with all her other expenses. For once, the ignition fired on the first time of asking.

Claire put the car into motion, trying to look at things rationally. Willing though Scott Laxton might be to ‘do the right thing’, as his brother had so scathingly put it, marriage didn’t have to be the only answer. Jill might not even want to marry him. It wouldn’t be easy bringing up a child, but between the two of them they could cope. At least there wasn’t the same stigma attached to single motherhood these days.

She was getting way ahead of herself, she conceded wryly at that point. It might even turn out to be a false alarm. She hoped so. Oh, God, how she hoped so!

Set right on the edge of the Derbyshire Dales, Rowsley was normally awash with weekend traffic at this time of year. Today there was little to mar her progress out to the suburb where she and Jill still lived, in the house they had once shared with their parents.

Insurance money and savings left by her father and mother had taken care of the mortgage, and there had been enough left over to start up the boutique. Claire had sold off part of the over-large garden to the people owning the plot next door, who had wanted to extend, and this had served the dual purpose of providing a sum to invest for Jill’s future educational expenses, and shrinking the garden to manageable proportions. Claire spent much of her spare time in it, and was justifiably proud of the result.

This evening she had no eyes for the colourful display fronting the white-walled house. She left the car standing on the drive and went straight indoors, gathering herself before opening the sitting-room door.

Jill looked up from the magazine which she was flicking through, her lovely, if somewhat wilful face wearing an unusually diffident expression.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Had a good day?’

Still not certain of how best to approach the subject, Claire shook her head. ‘Not very.’ She hesitated, then decided that the only way was to go head in. ‘I had a visit from Ross Laxton.’

If there had been any doubt left in her mind at all regarding the veracity of his accusation, it was instantly dispelled by the look which sprang into the younger girl’s eyes.

‘He had no right to interfere!’ she exclaimed angrily. ‘I was going to tell you myself tonight.’

Claire pushed a shaky hand through her hair, struggling to stay on top of her emotions. ‘How come I never even knew you were seeing Scott Laxton? Why all the secrecy, Jill?’

Defiance took over from annoyance. ‘Because I knew how you’d react. My A levels had to be top priority all the way through, didn’t they? Never mind what I wanted!’

‘I thought going on to university was what you wanted,’ Claire defended.

‘You never bothered to ask. You even decided which universities I should apply to.’

‘We decided that together. You never once—’ Claire broke off, taking a hold on herself. ‘There’s really no point in going into all that now, is there?’ she said, on as level a note as she could manage. ‘When did you discover you were pregnant?’

Some unreadable expression flickered across the smooth young features. ‘A week or so ago.’

‘There’s no chance that you might be wrong?’

‘I did two tests.’

‘But you haven’t been seen by a doctor yet?’

‘Scott is arranging all that privately. We’re going to be married, no matter what anyone says!’ she added forcefully. ‘We love each other.’

Claire sank into the nearest chair, searching her mind for some way of getting through the barriers that Jill was putting up against her. ‘How did you meet in the first place?’ was all she could come up with.

‘Scott likes discos,’ came the answer, as if that explained everything. ‘He’s a terrific dancer!’

A typical teenage accolade, thought Claire wryly, recalling a time when she might have considered such a talent of prime importance herself. Jill was still so young in many ways.

‘Did you know he was going to tell his brother about all this?’ she asked, and saw her sister’s face cloud again.

‘He said he was going to tell them all as soon as he got back this afternoon.’

‘You were with him this morning?’

‘Yes.’ The defiance was back. ‘He took me into Buxton, so I didn’t lie.’

‘And that makes everything hunky-dory, does it?’ Claire caught herself up, recognising the futility of lashing out in that way. What was done was done. What remained was to make the best of the situation.

‘I’m afraid his brother doesn’t see marriage as the obvious answer,’ she said on a quieter note. ‘I’m not sure I do either.’

Jill sat up straighter, expression determined. ‘It isn’t your or his decision to make! We’re both of an age to choose for ourselves!’

‘Of an age, perhaps, but there are other factors to be taken into account.’

‘Such as what?’ On her feet now, face flushed, hazel eyes flashing green lights, Jill looked ready to take on all comers. ‘You’d rather I got rid of it?’

‘No, of course not.’ Claire put everything she knew into keeping an even tone. ‘There are other alternatives.’

‘Like swelling the single-parent ranks, for instance?’ Deeper in colour than Claire’s, and falling straight as a die to her shoulders, Jill’s hair swung as she shook her head emphatically. ‘Scott wouldn’t settle for that even if I would. He wants this baby. We both do!’

‘You’re too young to know what you want,’ Claire protested. ‘I’m sure Scott is too.’

‘Scott isn’t just a boy. He’s twenty-two.’ From the way she said it, it was obvious that that made him mature enough for anything in her estimation. ‘If it’s money you’re worried about, you don’t need to. He can well afford to get married. He has investments left him by his grandmother, as well as his company shares.’

‘I hadn’t even got that far,’ Claire admitted. She hesitated, studying her sister’s mutinous face. ‘Do you think you’d feel the same way about him if he was just an ordinary, working man?’

‘Of course I would! It’s him I love, not the money!’ Jill made a sudden small gesture of appeal. ‘You’ll like him too, Claire. I know you will!’

He would have to be vastly different from his brother to make her like him, Claire reflected—a thought which brought an unpleasant reminder of Ross’s parting promise.

‘Ross Laxton is coming here with him in the morning,’ she said. ‘I doubt that his attitude is going to change overnight.’

‘Scott is coming over tonight,’ countered Jill. ‘He wants to meet you.’

‘Having left you to do the telling on your own.’

‘Only because I wanted it that way. He’s no coward!’

‘Oh, I’m sure he’s a regular paragon!’ Claire instantly regretted the tart remark. Whatever her opinion might turn out to be, Jill wasn’t going to be swayed. All the same, she couldn’t find it in herself to retract the words. ‘What time are you expecting him?’ she said instead.

Whatever her thoughts, Jill was keeping them to herself. ‘I told him around seven. He won’t have eaten, by the way. He’s still living at home, and they don’t have dinner till eight.’

Claire bit back the instinctive comment. It was gone half-past six now. She did a hasty mental review of their food stocks. There were half a dozen local rainbow trout in the freezer, presented to them by their neighbour, who owned fishing rights on the river. They could be cooked from frozen on the microwave’s sensor setting without losing too much flavour.

She had made a salad before leaving for the shop that morning, and had prepared a pan of new potatoes ready for the hob, intending to grill some steak to go with them. With apple pie and cream to follow, and cheese if required, there should be enough.

‘Then we’d better get moving,’ she said, putting everything else aside for the moment. ‘Perhaps you could start setting the table.’

‘OK.’ Jill got to her feet with an alacrity that brought a faint, ironic smile to her sister’s lips. ‘I’ll fetch a cloth.’

They normally ate most meals at the kitchen table, where a cloth wasn’t needed. Obviously it had to be the dining-room for Scott.

Claire left her to it, going through to the small but well-equipped kitchen to start on the meal. The trout would no doubt be a poor substitute for the kind of dinner served at the Laxton homestead, but she wasn’t going to allow that to concern her. Unexpected visitors took pot luck.

Unexpected was certainly the word. She could still hardly credit that this was really happening. A bare hour or so ago all she’d had to worry about was finance!

The trout weren’t all that large. She sprinkled all six with lemon juice and black pepper, added a few dots of butter, then covered the dish in cling film. The potatoes and fish should be ready about the same time; the apple pie they would eat cold. She briefly contemplated opening a bottle of wine, but decided that that might be overdoing things a little. This was hardly a celebration.

Jill had used the silver, she noted, when she went to check the small oak-beamed dining-room. She had also left off the cloth, laying the woven place-mats directly on the polished surface of the table and placing a vase of flowers from the sitting-room in the centre. It looked nice, Claire was bound to admit.

The sound of a car turning into the drive drew her eyes to the window. Long and silver, the Mercedes came to a stop behind her Panda, and the engine was switched off.

Claire felt her heart jerk painfully as the driver unfolded his length from the vehicle. Ross’s arrival could only mean that Scott wasn’t coming. Which left Jill where?